


Photo Album

by IchiBri



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Jean Kirstein, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tickling, Vampire Marco Bott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:11:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14119878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Marco can't see his reflection, nor does he show up in photographs.  He misses being able to flip through pages of photo albums and reminisce in memories past.  When he tells that to Jean, Jean comes up with an alternative.





	Photo Album

**Author's Note:**

> A little birthday gift for @pilindiel I you enjoy it <3

In days past, mirrors were thought to cast back the image of body and soul, and if someone lacked a soul–someone like a vampire–there would be no reflection to see.  Marco wasn’t sure how much of that he believed or whether he started with a soul as a human or not, but it was true he could no longer see his reflection.  The same could be said for photographs–for they capture the image of the soul.

Maybe the vampires of old who’ve been living for hundreds or even thousands of years weren’t bothered by that, but in terms of vampire age, Marco was a baby, and he grew up in a family that took photographs on every occasion.  He recalled albums upon albums neatly stacked like books on shelves, and his greatest joy were the quiet moments in which he flipped through the memories of years gone by.

But he didn’t have that luxury any more.  The albums he loved were far away in a place he no longer called home, and without a reflection–a soul to be captured–he couldn’t stare anew.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?” Jean quietly asked, his fingers stroking through the locks of Marco’s hair.

Marco’s eyes fell shut in a slow blink as he relished the soft scratches to his scalp.  His head resting in Jean’s lap, they had forgotten the drone of the television a few commercials back.  “It never came up,” he said.

Jean quietly hummed at that.  His fingers never stopped their strokes, but they ventured to feather over the skin behind Marco’s ear.

A shiver ran down Marco’s spine as puffs of laughter rumbled in his chest.  With a shrug of his shoulder, he tried to shake off the ticklish touch, but Jean was unrelenting.  His fingers left Marco a wriggling, squirming mess of shudders and laughs.

“I give!  I give!” Marco wheezed as he tapped out against Jean’s thigh.

With a chuckle, Jean ceased the tickling.  His fingers returned to gently smoothing Marco’s hair back into place.  “You know,” he casually began, “we can start new albums.”

Marco rolled onto his back.  As his curious gaze lifted to Jean’s face, Jean tenderly brushed the short strands of bangs across Marco’s forehead.  “As sweet as that sentiment is, I don’t think albums of blank selfies and background scenery will be the same.”

“Marco, my lovely,” Jean smiled down at Marco so sweetly, “have you forgotten what I do for a living?”

 

Marco hadn’t forgotten, but after a couple weeks, he forgot their conversation of starting new albums.  It wasn’t until Jean sidled up behind him as he ate breakfast at the kitchen island that Marco remembered.

Milk dribbled off the spoon of cheerios halfway to Marco’s mouth as he stared at the rustic leather cover of the photo album that Jean set upon the counter.  Bound by three metal rings, the cover was engraved with a tree in full bloom, leaves aplenty upon its branches.  Beneath its trunk anchored in earth, ‘ _Marco & Jean’_ was written in elegant swoops and loops of cursive.

“You didn’t,” Marco said, breathless in the awe and elation that had his lips stretching into a smile.

“I did.”  Jean beamed, absolutely shining with the pride of his grin.  His hand trailed across Marco’s lower back as he slid atop the stool beside Marco.  With impatient little jerks, Jean bumped the album against Marco’s bowl of cereal.

“You’re gonna get milk on it,” Marco laughed even as he pushed the bowl out of the way.

Jean fidgeted as Marco slowly ran a finger upon the cover.  So soft beneath his touch, Marco felt every dip of a leaf and loop of a letter.  His gaze flicked to Jean’s curled lip and drumming fingers, and Marco smiled at the impatience–nervous, yet giddy in his eagerness.

With a pinch of his fingers, Marco opened the album.  The first page was a creamy white with Jean’s handwriting scrawled across it.

_‘To many more albums with you <3’_

“Aww, Jean.”  Marco’s hand slipped below the counter.  It fell upon Jean’s knee with a gentle squeeze before his thumb absently stroked over the denim.

With his other hand, Marco carefully turned the page.  Two pictures, both printed with a glossy finish, were secured to the pages with metal photo tabs at each corner.  The first had elegant, dignified strokes in every brush.  The pudgy cheeks of a baby with more freckles than Marco could count looked as soft as clouds in the sky.  Swaddled in the plush of blankets and pillows, the baby’s smile rivaled the sun in radiance and brilliance.

“I don’t think I had freckles as a baby,” Marco quietly said even as his finger hovered over the drawing.  He knew the picture wouldn’t feel as soft as it looked, but by god, it might be worth the fingerprint smearing its shine for a chance to feel the warmth of the drawing.

“Well, I didn’t know you then, but as a concept artist, I figured you were all sunshine and smiles, so I hope that came across.”  Jean’s hand fell over Marco’s that still remained on his thigh.  His fingers curled as they slipped between Marco’s.

Marco turned his palm over so they could hold hand properly, fingers stroking over knuckles.  “It’s warm,” Marco said.  He laughed then–a quiet little chuckle–as his eyes turned to the second picture.  “Baby you, on the other hand, looks like chaos.”

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, his voice wobbly with the amusement that tinged it.  Unlike the sweeping elegance of baby Marco’s drawing, baby Jean’s strokes were rough and jagged.  The blankets were riddled with sharp wrinkles and creases, and the baby’s face was scrunched with the onslaught of wails coming from its mouth.  “My mom said I was a fussy little terror for the first year or so.”

Marco thoughtfully hummed.  “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Wow, rude,” Jean shook his head, but there was no heat behind his words.

Lightly, Marco swayed on his stool to playfully bump shoulders with Jean.  When he turned the page, the next ones were blank.

“Keep going,” Jean prompted.

“Okay, but, uh…”

“They’ll be filled later,” Jean said.

Page after page, Marco turned but empty spaces were all which greeted him.  As he neared the end, he glanced at Jean with curious eyes, but Jean was all innocent smiles and batting lashes waiting for the surprise to hit.

When he turned the last page, bright colors greeted him.  Next to the back cover’s natural brown, the dazzling greens and blues were a pleasant contrast.  The background of wrought iron fence lining the park was lit with the brilliance of a clear sky in late spring.  The bodies of passersby were blurs of colors without faces, for their identities were irrelevant to the story being told.

Marco recognized himself, though.  Walking along the sidewalk in a comfy sweater a size too big, he had a textbook tucked under one arm.  The other was raised with a pouch of blood.  His lips formed around its straw, and the tips of fangs peeked out.

And then there was Jean.  Marco chuckled at the overly lanky limbs and the craned neck with bulging eyes staring back at Marco.  Two pick hearts swirled above Jean’s head, and in his next step, those hearts would be tweeting birds as he walked straight into a lamppost.

“Did this really happen?” Marco asked, lifting his gaze from the drawing and turning it to Jean.

With a small smile to his lips, Jean nodded.  “What can I say,” he shrugged.  “You were hot, and I was thirsty as fuck.”

Marco raised an eyebrow as he thought back to what he thought had been their first encounter.  “So bumping into me at the library and accidentally taking each other’s textbooks wasn’t a coincidence?”

Jean had the gall to look sheepish as he scratched at his cheek.  “Guilty as charged.”

“I hope you ran into that pole.”

“I’ll have you know…” Jean puffed as he started out strong, but he deflated with a chuckle.  “I did.”

Marco squeezed Jean’s hand as he lifted their clasped grasp to his lips.  His eyes fell shut with Jean’s drawing fresh on the lids.  Tenderly, he kissed the back of Jean’s hand.  “Thank you,” he quietly murmured.

Jean’s fingers squeezed back, and Marco felt the pull of skin beneath his lips.  “And there’s many more to come,” Jean said, relishing in the telling of childhood stories that would fill the gaps between babies and college.  And then, while he worked to fill this album with each of their pasts, he could look for the next album that would commemorate their future.


End file.
